


The Twelve Alternative First Meetings of Christmas

by HollyShadow88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Meet Differently, Army Doctor John Watson, Christmas, Coffee Shops, Ficmas, First Meetings, Fluff, Frozen (2013) References, John is a trashcan, Kidlock, Librarian Sherlock, Light Angst, M/M, Merman Sherlock, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teacher Sherlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyShadow88/pseuds/HollyShadow88
Summary: For the 12 Days of Ficmas.  Basically I'm just taking each prompt and making it into a new meeting between Sherlock and John.  Guaranteed fluff 95% of the time.





	1. Letters to Santa

**Author's Note:**

> MY FIRST CHRISTMAS FICS. Okay, so none of these are going to connect but they'll all have the same thing in common - they're gonna meet in a new way for each one. Enjoy!

John snatched Jane up under her arms, hoisting her into her chair and pushing it close to the table.  She bounced in her seat, instantly snatching up one of the crayons John had brought along with them, and waited for John to sit next to her.  He chuckled at her enthusiasm and pulled open his bag, digging around until he found his notebook and placed it in front of her.  With her free hand, she immediately flipped it open to a blank page, staring expectantly up at John for instructions.

“Alright, kid, what are you thinking?  A bike?  Dolls?  Puzzles?”  He rested his arm across the back of her chair, leaning in close.  Jane frowned and stared down at the page with furrowed brows and a look of fierce concentration.

“No bikes.  Andy at school has a bike an’ he fell off of it an’ now he’s got a big scrape on his knee.  I don’t want a bike.”

John chuckled and nodded.  “Right then, no bikes.  Are you still a fan of that pig show?  Maybe you can ask for something from that?”

Her face lit up and she let out a squeal of excitement.  John glanced around nervously and hushed her, smiling apologetically to the gentleman who was at the table across from them.  The man frowned briefly, but was soon immersed back in his book.  Jane, meanwhile, had started colouring across the top of the page, mumbling the Peppa Pig intro to herself as she did.  Her expression was focused as she sorted through the crayons for the right ones, scribbling with a determined precision that reminded John of her mum.  While she was busy, John wracked his brain in an attempt to think of other ideas for her letter, but found himself suddenly distracted. 

Across from them, pushing a book trolley and scanning the shelves along the wall, stood a tall man in a royal blue Oxford shirt.  His dark curls looked shiny and soft in the florescent light of the library, artfully tousled in a style that was meant to look like it was just thrown together thoughtlessly but John knew was done on purpose.  As John watched, he pushed his black glasses back up the bridge of his nose and bent over to replace a book in its place on a lower shelf.  John felt his face flush and immediately turned back to Jane, though he kept studying the man out of the corner of his eye.  Half of his attention remained on the man as Jane finished her first picture and pushed the notebook toward John for him to see.

“Very nice, Jane.  What else?  There’s got to be some other things Mum hasn’t let have before now that you’d like.” 

“LEGO!” she yelled, trading her pink crayon for a green one.  The man sat at the other table huffed in irritation, but John was more concerned about the librarian’s reaction than his.  He had turned around at Jane’s exclamation, narrowing silver blue eyes on the two of them.  At first his attention settled on Jane, his mouth turning into a slight scowl.  His eyes shifted his glare at John, widening when they instantly met John’s.  His eyebrows shot up and he quickly turned back to the bookshelf, the back of his neck turning an attractive shade of red.  The corner of John’s mouth twitched up in a grin and he ducked his head closer to Jane.

“Remember what we talked about, kid?  Inside voices go double in the library.  We don’t want to bother the other people who are here reading, right?”

She hunched her shoulders up to her ears and brought her free finger up to her mouth in a shh-ing motion.  “Right,” she whispered, though even that voice was almost as loud as her normal one.  “Extra quiet.  Sorry.”

“Not to worry.  So we’ve got Peppa Pig and we’ve got legos…what else do you want to ask Santa to get you for Christmas?”

John heard a snort from behind him and his head shot up.  While he had been distracted, the attractive librarian had moved on to the shelf directly next to them.  He sorted through the books on his trolley, his nose wrinkled in distaste.  He glanced at John out of his peripherals, rolling his eyes dramatically when he noticed John watching.  Readjusting his glasses and straightening his already ramrod back, he attempted to affect disinterest in the proceedings at the table.  Frowning, John shifted back around so that he was facing Jane again. 

“What are you going to ask Santa to bring you?” she asked John, incredibly serious as she organized her crayons.  Before he could answer, a sigh interrupted him and John pushed back his chair to face the librarian fully.

“Can we help you?” he asked, attempting to keep the irritation from his voice and failing.  The man leaned an elbow on the trolley’s handle and rested his other hand on his hip, watching them with a smug expression.

“Santa Claus and his various reiterations are simply ways in which parents create reasons for their misbehaving children to be forced into acting with better manners.  If you’d like to get specific, he originated from the Greek bishop Saint Nicholas of Myra, who is best known for the fact that he gave three young women dowries so that they would not be forced into prostitution.  Although it acts as a good overall message to illustrate to young people, I’m not entirely sure whether forced marriage and sexual favours in order to survive is really the sort of thing people would enjoy bringing up around the holidays, particularly to children.”

John hissed and rushed to his feet, shooting a glance at Jane before shoving the librarian against the shelf and out of her earshot.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in an angry whisper.  “You can’t just tell a kid that Santa isn’t real.  Or talk about…about bloody _sex_ in front of them, Jesus.”

“Why not?” the librarian shot back.  His glasses fell down to the end of his nose, allowing him to watch John over the top of them.  “She’s going to find out eventually, you might as well tell her early.  It’s pointless to create such elaborate lies to trick your daughter only to have her realize it years in the future and become even further disillusioned.”

“First of all, she’s not my daughter, she’s my niece.  Second of all, she’s _six._   I’m not about to tell a _six-year-old_ that the big guy in a red suit who’s got her all excited about Christmas is a fake.”

 The librarian rolled his eyes, his arms coming up to cross over his chest.  “Very well, but I’m sure her mother will be absolutely _thrilled_ to find out you’re encouraging her to ask for the things that she’s not intended to have.  All that Santa does is encourage children to get their hopes up only to have them destroyed on Christmas morning.”

“Or maybe she’s got an uncle who’s planning to get her something her mum couldn’t because she can’t hold down a job and would rather let Santa take the credit for it to make her happy?”  At his words, the librarian’s shoulders slumped and he shot Jane a glance.

“Ah…sorry.  I guess I…sorry.”  The man’s arms fell down to his sides and he sighed.  “I hadn’t considered that possibility.  I just wanted to help her avoid disappointment.”

John studied him and sighed.  “No, it’s fine, really.  You’re right, in a way, I suppose.  It sounds like you might have been speaking from experience.”

He laughed humourlessly and replied, “I asked for a chemistry set when I was seven.  Instead I got a scooter.  You may have the right idea with that theory.”

“Wait, you were angry you got a scooter?”  The man’s cheeks started to turn pink and John grinned.  “I asked for the Chronicles of Narnia series one year and got rugby equipment, so I suppose I shouldn’t talk.”  John shot his hand out to him, waiting for him to take it before continuing.  “I’m John.”

“Sherlock.”  They watched Jane colour and hum to herself for a few minutes before Sherlock huffed out a breath.  He shoved his glasses back up his face and waved a hand at his trolley.  “I should probably get back to work.  I’m sorry again for all of that.”

“No problem.”  John’s eyes narrowed as he looked Sherlock up and down and he spoke before he thought better of it.  “I don’t know how much longer you’re stuck here, but Jane and I were planning on going out for hot chocolate once her letter’s finished.  Maybe you’d be interested?”

A tiny smile appeared on Sherlock’s lip and he nodded tentatively.  “That…would be nice.  I’m not finished for another hour, however.”

Grinning back, John winked at him.  “I don’t mind waiting if the waiting’s for something good.”  Sherlock’s still pink cheeks turned even more red and John burst out into a full blown smile as he waved and returned to Jane’s side.

“So Uncle John,” she started, acting as though nothing had happened in the few minutes he was gone.  “Do you think you’ll get what you want for Christmas?”

John’s eyes remained fixed on Sherlock as he moved down the row, his eyes darting back to John every few seconds.  “You know what, kid, I think I actually might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's niece is named Jane because I like the headcanon of Harry's Clara being Clara Oswald from Doctor Who and there's the one ep where she basically said she had a fling with Jane Austen. Naturally Clara would name her and Harry's child after her first lady love. Fun fact, all that info about the real Saint Nicolas is true. I've done presentations on him because his birthday and celebration day are on my birthday, so Nick and I are bros. Also librarian!Sherlock is the ideal opportunity to get my "I fucking love people in glasses" fix in so you're welcome.


	2. Candy Canes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kidlock alternative first meeting. Eight-year-old Sherlock gets teamed up with eight-year-old John for a holiday project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy writing these two as adorable little children a bit too much.

Sherlock sat at one of the tables by the window, a partially completed puzzle spread out in front of him.  He squinted down at it and, with careful fingers, picked up a centre piece.  He held it close to his face, twisting and turning it to study all of its edges.  His gaze shot quickly down to the table and back to the piece as he assessed it, eventually shifting it ever so slightly to the right.  Lowering it down with as much care and precision as was possible for an eight-year-old, he fit it into its appropriate place with ease.  When it slid into the open space without issue, a proud grin stretched across his face.

Around him, Sherlock’s classmates chattered excitedly to one another.  Sherlock ignored them in favour of his puzzle, disinterested as always when they left him out of their conversations.  It happened more often than it didn’t, but Sherlock didn’t really mind very much.  Even when they did talk to him, it usually was only to pick fun at him rather than actually let him into whatever they were discussing.  In the end, Sherlock found it better to stay on his own and let the others do what they would.  It really wasn’t worth the trouble only to end up disappointed.

He soon discovered what had gotten them so excited when a knock came at the classroom door.  Miss Hart, one of the other year four teachers, waved eagerly at the tiny window, gesturing between their teacher and something behind her.  Sherlock’s teacher, Miss Jones, broke out in a smile and stood from her desk.  “Okay everybody,” she declared, loud enough to be heard over the students’ talking to bring them to order.  “Clean up whatever you’re working on and go back to your workstations, please.  Miss Hart and her students are here to work on our big project!”

Sherlock furrowed his brows and frowned down at his puzzle.  Project?  He attempted to remember if Miss Jones had mentioned working with another class on something, but nothing came to mind.  He assumed that it hadn’t sounded important enough for him to pay attention to or remember.  It was nearly Christmas break, with only another week until they would be done until the new year, and Sherlock had been struggling with trying to care about what they were learning even more than he did the rest of the year.  Most of the time he found it all of school dull, not interesting or engaging enough for him, or even something that he had already learned about on his own.  With a break approaching, and the opportunity to spend time at home working on projects he actually cared about, his motivation to participate in class had plummeted even more.

Frustrated, he slammed his hand down on the puzzle, causing the pieces that were attached to break apart and the loose ones to scatter to the floor.  While his classmates scrambled around to do as Miss Jones had asked, Sherlock remained in his seat and glared at the floor.  He heard the click of Miss Jones’ approaching footsteps and refused to look up at her even when he saw her shadow out of the corner of his eye when she knelt next to him.

“Sherlock?  Do you want to pick up your puzzle for me?” she asked, her voice falsely sweet.  He hated when she asked if he would like to do anything.  They both knew he didn’t, but she always made it a point to phrase it in that particular way in the hopes that this time would be different and he’d comply easily.  Unfortunately for her, neither of them would be getting what they wanted.

“No, I don’t _want_ to put it away.  I _want_ to finish it and I _want_ to use free time for what I _want_.”  He crossed his arms over his chest and attempted not to pout, but he knew his lips were twisted into an expression that would make Mycroft roll his eyes and tell him to stop acting like a child.

Miss Jones sighed, though she tried to hide it.  “Please just put away your things, Sherlock.  We’ve been talking about starting this project today for a few weeks now, remember?  But we’ll have just as much fun working with Miss Hart’s class on this holiday activity as you would have during free time, don’t worry!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and reluctantly pulled the puzzle box toward him, shoving the pieces into it with more force than was necessary to illustrate his displeasure.  Miss Jones left him alone to organize the other children and let Miss Hart’s class in.  By the time Sherlock had put the box on the shelf where it belonged and returned to his table, another student sat at the seat next to his chair.  His legs hung above the floor, causing him to swing his feet back and forth erratically.  He clutched the side of the seat and his blonde head darted around, searching for his partner.  Sherlock huffed and squared his shoulders, approaching the table with his head held high.

The boy turned large blue eyes on Sherlock when he sat in his seat, an enormous smile on his face.  He leaned into Sherlock’s space and held out his hand expectantly.  Sherlock looked down at the offering and back up at the boy’s face, raising an eyebrow before reluctantly shaking hands.  The boy’s enthusiasm meant that he practically shook Sherlock’s entire body with the movement.

“Hi, I’m John!” he declared.  He shuffled his chair close enough that they were nearly sitting on top of one another.  “Miss Hart said we’re gonna be paired up for the assignmen’.  We gotta talk about candy canes!  What’s your name?  Do you wanna be friends?”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed and he watched John doubtfully.  “I’m Sherlock Holmes.  I don’t have any friends.”

John shuffled through the construction paper, markers, and stickers they had been given and placed some before both of them.  “Well that’s no fun.  Ev’rybody should have friends.  But don’t worry, Sherlock Holmes, I’m gonna be your friend now, k?”  Sherlock’s mouth gaped in surprise, but John didn’t notice.  He had moved on to carefully creating the perfect candy cane on his paper, a tiny bit of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in his focus.  Sherlock shook himself slightly and took up a marker for his own picture, uncapping it but keeping it held aloft over the page.  He thought for a moment before turning back to John.

“Nobody…nobody wants to be my friend.  They all say I’m weird and that nobody would want to be friends with me.”

John’s head shot up, his mouth open in a perfect o of shock and offense.  He set aside his marker with the upmost care, turning in his chair to face Sherlock fully.  His hands sat folded in his lap as he stared up at Sherlock, practically emanating youthful seriousness.  “They are not nice, Sherlock Holmes.  They shouldn’t say mean things like that, ‘specially since it’s not true.  _I’m_ your friend, so they’re all wrong.  If they don’t wanna be friends with you just ‘cause you’re different, then they wouldn’t be very good friends anyway, right?”  When all Sherlock could do in reply was cock his head at him, John patted his arm and pointed at Sherlock’s paper.  “C’mon, let’s finish our pictures.  We’ll show ‘em by having the best project on candy canes EVER!”

Nodding, Sherlock finally started to create his candy cane while John continued to jabber on next to him.  He soon found himself quietly answering John’s questions, his ease growing as John seemed interested in what he had to say.  By the end of the activity, the pair of them were spending more time talking than working and John had promised to talk to his mother about having Sherlock over to play.  As John waved goodbye while he left with the rest of his class, Sherlock started to think that maybe friends weren’t as silly as he’d always thought they would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd apologize for the corny ending but they're cute so I won't.


	3. Family Gatherings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teacher!Sherlock. John's surprising his daughter by coming in to help with her class' project and ends up getting a bit distracted by her attractive teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to God, someday we'll get to a fic where there are no children. Today, however, is not that day.

Adjusting the visitor’s badge on his collar, John squinted at the plaques next to the classroom doors as he passed them.  The main office told him that Olivia’s classroom was number 221, located out with a few other classrooms in the b section.  He remembered hearing her mention a few times that their windows looked out to the playground, so he set out in that direction to begin his search.

When John received the letter from Olivia’s teacher at the beginning of the year encouraging parents to come in and help out in the classroom, he never expected that he would have time to do so.  He purposefully set up his schedule at the clinic so that he would be finished every day when she was done at school as well as getting most Saturdays off, but he sacrificed any free days during the week in the process.  Particularly close to the holidays, and with the winter weather bringing in an abundance of colds and flus, he didn’t expect to ever have the opportunity to participate with her class.  Luckily for him, Sarah knew he wanted to be as engaged with Olivia’s life as possible, so when he mentioned that her class was working on special activities for Christmas, she practically shoved him out the door to get him to go.

He eventually found the classroom, the all black door stark against the cream of the corridor walls.  Before knocking, he peered in through the window to search for Olivia.  Her tawny head popped up in the far corner, waving a book in her hand and talking avidly with three of her classmates.  John smiled to himself and rapped his knuckles on the door, quickly ducking out of view in case Olivia looked his way.

A few seconds later, the door was wrenched open just enough to reveal a wide-eyed little boy.  He stared up at John for a moment before turning and yelling, “MR. HOLMES.  THERE’S A STRANGE MAN AT THE DOOR.”

John heard a deep chuckle and shuffling before someone pulled the door open the rest of the way.  He hadn’t had many expectations about the teacher Olivia bragged about on a daily basis, but the tall, attractive man who greeted him certainly didn’t fall into any of them.  There was a splotch of green paint streaked across one of his cheekbones and the occasionally glimpse of sparkling glitter shimmered in his otherwise dark curls.  For a moment, John could do little more than gape up at him.  The man cricked an eyebrow up at him, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

“Dr. Watson, I’m assuming?” he asked, his voice as deep as his laugh.  John blinked a few times before finally giving himself a small shake and holding out his hand. 

"Right, yeah, hi.  John Watson.  Olivia’s dad.” 

“I should hope so,” the man replied as he grabbed John’s hand, his enormous one practically encompassing John’s.  “I’m Sherlock Holmes, her teacher.”

“Pleasure to finally get the chance to meet you.”  They continued to hold each other’s hands for longer than was most likely polite, simply staring at one another, until the boy still standing beside Sherlock turned back to face the room.

“’LIVIA YOUR DAD’S HEREEEEE!” he screeched into the room, jolting both of them to attention.  Sherlock rolled his eyes, but when he turned to the boy his face was warm and friendly.

“Alex, I’m sure Olivia appreciates your enthusiasm, but remember what we’ve all been discussing recently.”

Alex scrunched his face up in thought before it smoothed out into a toothy grin.  “Loud voices are for outside, quiet are for in!”

Sherlock nodded.  “Precisely.  Go back to your table now, please, and thank you for answering the door.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Holmes!” he declared before skipping off to rejoin his friends.  Sherlock waved John in, shutting the door behind him and shuffling John further into the room.  At Alex’s declaration, Olivia had scrambled out from the carpeted reading area and rushed to the front, situating herself perfectly to throw herself into John’s arms.  He caught her with a grunt, hoisting her up to rest against his hip.

“Daddy, you’re HERE!” she said, grabbing him around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder.  He could feel her smile through the fabric and rubbed a hand down her back.  “Daddy, are you gonna help us with our Christmas activity?!”

“That’s why I’m here,” he replied.  She squealed and started to squirm in his grip.  Once he let her down, she raced off back to her friends and John was able to turn his attention back to Sherlock.  “So what exactly are we doing today?”

Sherlock led John to his desk, shuffling through the mess in search of something.  Hardly any part of the desk itself was visible through the notebooks, papers, and assignments that were scattered across it.  He soon found whatever it was he was looking for and turned to rest his bum against the desk’s edge as he looked it over.  John attempted not to stare at him too hard but given the sly little smirk Sherlock shot him over the top of the paper, he suspected he wasn’t entirely successful.

“We’ve been learning about how different families celebrate the holidays,” Sherlock explained, handing John a folder decorated with cat stickers and various shades of blue sparkles.  John recognized Olivia’s particular touch to it and grinned as he opened it to flip through what was inside.  “We’ve covered most of the basics, like food and places to visit, but today’s assignment involves special activities with parents or guardians.  That’s one of the reasons why I particularly hoped one of the children’s parents could come in today.”

“Helps that I represent the enigma that is a single father too.”  At Sherlock’s anxious expression, John laughed and shook his head.  “No, no, it’s fine, really.  Good way to show the kids that not all families are the same.  Besides, I’ve been meaning to get involved with the class, but with working at a day clinic…”

“You’re trying despite a busy schedule; it’s a significant improvement over most of the other parents who barely even pay attention to the fact that they _have_ children.”  A flash of anger crossed Sherlock’s face but soon vanished as he looked across the classroom at his students.  “It’s been…difficult, for some of them, if they don’t have much of a holiday at home, so I have been attempting to recreate some of it while they’re here to give them _something_ , at least.”

Glancing around at the festive decorations that included a small artificial Christmas tree on a table covered in homemade ornaments and a menorah on a shelf with electric lights, John nodded and squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder without thinking about it.  Sherlock blinked a few times at the motion but otherwise said nothing.  “I can tell,” John muttered, letting his hand rest on the swell of Sherlock’s shoulder blade.  He finally realized what he was doing when his thumb absentmindedly rubbed against the soft fabric of Sherlock’s navy jumper.  His hand shot up and he rubbed his palms into his jeans, attempting to cover the fact that his skin was tingling from the contact.  He cleared his throat and nodded his chin at the room.  “So, ah, what would you like me to do?”

Sherlock’s face had turned slightly red, causing the green paint still on his cheek to stand out even more.  “Um, there are arts and crafts tubs on the shelves under the window.  Distribute them evenly between all of the tables?  I’ll take care of giving each of the students their workbooks.”

As John moved to do as Sherlock asked, he noticed Olivia watching them.  Her mouth was curved into an enormous grin, her eyes mischievous as they darted between him and Sherlock.  John tried to roll his eyes at her, but when he brushed past Sherlock and they both froze in place to gape up at each other, he suspected that her observations were more astute than he’d hoped.  By the end of the activity, he found himself attempting to figure out how to ask Sherlock out for coffee once school was over for the day, resigning himself to the fact that he was more interested in Olivia’s teacher than he would have ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten bucks and a high five to whoever manages to dump glitter on Ben's head so we can all appreciate that great visual.


	4. Fairy Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's been sent out in search of Christmas decorations for the clinic. Instead he finds a handsome stranger and a particularly determined old woman.

It was raining.  Naturally.  Abso-fucking-lutely it would be raining.  What else would it be doing the _one_ time John had to leave the clinic during the day on a ridiculous whim of Sarah’s to “make the office more festive.”  And of _course_ John would be _delighted_ to run out to the shops, pick up a few things, whatever “strikes your fancy, John, you can’t go wrong when it’s holiday decorations, here’s forty quid, I’m sure Tesco’s still has something.”  John grumbled to himself as he pulled his coat collar closer to his neck, a bit of the rain still managing to sneak down the back of his shirt.  He squinted through the downpour and took off down the street, heading in the direction of the nearest shop.

He’d only started at the clinic about a month before, enough time that he was beginning to get comfortable with his coworkers but not enough that he felt as though he could say no when the boss asked him a favour.  When Sarah started to throw out random comments throughout the week about decorating for Christmas, John knew he would inevitably end up being asked to help in some way.  He tried to keep mostly to himself while at work, friendly if approached but without actively seeking out companionship, but Sarah in particular had grown attached to him over the few short weeks.  Consequently, when John’s lunch hour came around that Friday and he heard a knock on his door, he suspected it would have something to do with her plots from earlier in the week.

“John?”  Sarah had peeked her head around the edge of the door, her face enthusiastic and hopeful.  John was just about to open up his sack lunch and his head shot around at the sound of her voice.  Internally, he groaned but he made sure to show nothing but pleasant welcome when he smiled back at her.  “I hate to do this to you on your lunch break, but could I ask you to do something for me?”

Obviously she wanted him to go out in search of Christmas decorations and of course, John being who he was, would do what she asked.  He’d been noticing that her attention to him had turned from welcoming into more interested than was usually acceptable between coworkers, so John hoped that by helping out with this, it might give him the chance to determine just how far their ‘friendship’ could be pushed.  Going out in search of decorations a little over a week before the holiday might tip him over the edge of friendly and into a more solid hint of a relationship.  Nothing like trudging out into the rain to battle frantic shoppers in order to get a leg over.

There was a decent sized Tesco’s about a block down from the clinic, so John figured it was as good a place to start as any.  Sarah didn’t mention whether she wanted anything in particular and the last time John purposefully bought anything holiday-themed was when Harry asked him to bring along a bottle of red to make mulled wine at the single Christmas party of hers he willingly attended.  His own flat, better now that he could afford something more than the bedsit where he originally lived on his return to London, remained indifferent to the holiday, John not finding it worthwhile to decorate if he was going to be the only one to see any of it.  He mostly focused on finding anything still available at such a late date, rather than concerning himself over the quality or the contents.

The instant he stood outside of the shop, John knew it would be a nightmare.  Normally if he stopped outside the windows, he could see at least halfway this particular Tesco’s without any problem.  Today, however, the customers looked like they were nearly on top of each other with how crowded it was.    John groaned and squared his shoulders, giving himself a mental pep talk before joining the fray.  _In and out, John Watson.  Head straight for the Christmas décor, grab whatever’s easiest, and leave it at that.  If it’s more than what she’s given you to pay for it, take it out of your own damn pocket.  It’ll be worth it in the end if it means Sarah’s pleased._

Luckily for John, the display of decorations was both obvious and close to the door.  He attempted to snatch up a basket at the entrance, but a scowling older woman with murder in her eyes took the last one before he even had the chance to try.  Barely managing to contain his angry outburst at her in reply to the under-her-breath mutterings he heard as she pushed past him, John took a deep breath and shoved his way further inside.  Entire sections of the Christmas selection were completely bare, price tags hanging sadly before the empty areas acting as the only clue towards what once was there.  He stood and stared at the meek offerings, trying to decide if it was even worth it to get anything here, when he narrowed in on the perfect choice.

Three boxes remained, seated side by side at the very back of the shelf, bright fairy lights waiting patiently to be bought.  At first, John wasn’t sure if he would be tall enough to reach them, but with determination and his tiptoes, he managed to brush his fingers against the front of one of the boxes.  He nearly had it in his grasp, success imminent, when an enormous hand loomed out from his left and took it up for itself.

“Oi!” he declared, turning to frown up at the fairy light thief.  The man stared indifferently down at him, the other two boxes already secured into the crook of his elbow, and seemed almost bored as he watched John fume.  John was taken aback for a moment by the impressive man for a moment before he let his anger override his arousal.  “What the hell, mate?  You’ve already got two boxes, what the fuck do you need the one I already had for?”

The man sniffed and narrowed his eyes at John, clutching the boxes closer when he noticed John’s clenched fists.  “That’s all well and good, but I need _three_ in order to complete my experiment, not two.  It will be completely pointless if I only have two; it’ll compromise the integrity of the entire enterprise.”

John wrinkled his brow and his mouth fell open in shock.  “You…what the bloody fuck does that even mean, complete your _experiment_?  What kind of experiment involves _fairy lights_?”

Instantly the man’s face lit up in excitement.  Without thinking about what he was doing, he set the lights next to him on the shelf and launched into an explanation, his hands animatedly illustrating his process as he spoke almost too fast for John to understand.  John felt his mouth gradually twist from shock into amusement as he watched the man explain himself.  By the time he had finished, John found himself leaning against the shelf and shifting into the man’s space, a crooked smile on his face as he looked up into his eyes.  He blinked down at John and visibly gulped, shifting on his feet and clasping his hands behind his back.

“That was absolutely brilliant,” John breathed, causing the man’s face to turn bright pink.  “Seriously, mental but brilliant.”

“I…thank you,” he muttered, refusing to meet John’s eyes.  John was just about to introduce himself when a hand suddenly darted between them, grabbing the deserted fairy light boxes.  Both men snapped around and were greeted by the same irritable woman John encountered at the entrance.  She squinted at them briefly before stuffing the boxes into her basket and ambling off.  John let out a laugh and turned back to the man, who was frowning at the woman’s back.

“I’m John.”  The man’s attention shot back to John as though he was surprised he was still there.  “Looks like you’re out of luck with those lights here.  There’s a Sainsbury’s right around the corner; care to join me?”

“Um.  Okay.”  They headed toward the exit, John purposefully standing close.  As soon as they were outside, the man suddenly pulled to a stop and turned to face John.  “Oh!  I’m Sherlock.  Sherlock Holmes.”

John winked at him and sauntered in the direction of the next shop.  “Well then, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sherlock Holmes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's salty today because I'm salty today. Also he's literal trash. Let John swear 2k17.


	5. Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unilock. John, Greg, and Molly enjoy the snow and Sherlock accidentally gets involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the day delay! This was basically my excuse to a. get Greg naked and b. make Frozen references.

John knew it snowed during the night long before he managed to actually see it.  Rather than waking up to his alarm like he expected, he jolted awake that morning to his roommate letting out an excited whoop and throwing himself over the side of his upper bunk.  Rubbing away the sleep from his eyes and blinking down at the books and papers still in the bed with him from the night before, he scratched the back of his neck and turned to watch his roommate.  Greg, wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue briefs, stood at the window, flapping his hand enthusiastically at John while bouncing on his toes.

“It snowed!  It fucking _snowed_!”  Greg punched the air and began an awkward, shuffling sort of dance across the carpet, humming to himself as he went.  John rolled his eyes and flopped back down into bed, scattering some of his papers onto the floor.

“You are definitely too excited about snow,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand along his scratchy jaw.  “Is it even enough out there to count as snow or are you having me on?  Trying to force me out of my nice, warm bed only to find out there’s barely enough to cover the ground?”

“Nah, mate, this is the real shit!  That is legit fucking _snow_ out there!”  Greg started scrounging around in the pile of clothes at the bottom of his closet, whipping off his pants and throwing them across the room.  John snickered at him and tossed a pillow at his head, missing him by an inch to slam into the wall.

“Oi, nobody wants to see that.  The snow isn’t going anywhere.”

Greg shot a cocky grin over his shoulder as he started yanking on his warmest clothes.  “You’re just upset I don’t let you get any of this.”  He made it a point to waggle his bum in John’s direction when he bent to tie up his boots.  John rolled his eyes and finally pushed himself out of bed.

“You got me.  The pure pain that comes from living in close proximity to that fine arse but knowing it belongs to Molly Hooper has finally come out.  I’m sorry, Greg, I’m not sure if I can deal with this extreme pining much longer.”

Greg cackled and darted out the door.  “Meet us out at the quad in twenty, yeah?  I’m gonna go grab Molls!”

“What the hell are we doing on the quad?”  John’s head stuck out of the door, his voice carrying down the corridor.  “Fucking…GREG!  Jesus, you’re like a kid in a candy shop today.”

“Even better – I’m a kid on the first snow of the year!” Greg shot back, jogging backwards while shooting John a wave and turning a corner.  John shook his head and grinned, rushing back into their room to pull on his own snow gear.  He spared a glance at the work still spread across his bed and the floor and attempted to ignore the guilt as it went briefly neglected.  Promising to spend a good part of the afternoon and evening in the library, he yanked his hat over his ears and chased after Greg.

John practically slid down the hill from his dorm to the main campus, his pounding footsteps echoing in the tunnel between the music buildings before he burst out into the snowy grounds.  A few people were making their way between their dorms and the campus centre or library, but the quad itself remained untouched, a blank slate of perfect whiteness.  When he didn’t immediately see Greg or Molly, he shot inside the centre and up the stairs to the dining hall, grabbing a bagel and a banana before rushing back outside.  He was in the process of shoving the entire banana into his mouth when Greg waved at him, pointing at the middle of the quad and running towards it.  Molly followed at a slower pace behind him.

By the time he reached them, Greg had pulled on his gloves and fell to his knees in the snow, starting to roll out a ball to make a snowman’s base.  Molly and John simply watched him as he ran across the quad, the ball gradually doubling in size.  He huffed as he fought to make it bigger and turned it back towards the other two, leading it back into the middle of the quad.  Smirking, John ripped off a piece of his bagel and swallowed it before shouting, “Hey Greg!  You wanna build a snowman?”

“Fuck off, Watson, what d’you think I’m trying to do!” Greg attempted to yell back, but running around the quad turned the words into an out-of-breath grumble.  Molly buried her giggle into her scarf and John turned his grin to her, raising an eyebrow at her.  She frowned in reply and when John bent to grab a handful of snow, her eyes widened.

“Fair warning, Molly, this might be your only chance to avoid getting involved.”  Before she could reply, John pelted the snowball he had made at Greg, hitting him squarely on the side of his head.  Greg spluttered and straightened, wiping away the snow and turning a murderous expression on John.  “Tag, you’re it!”

“Oh, you are done for now, Watson.  Luckily for you, the cold never bothered me anyway.”  Greg deserted his snowman to make his own snowball.  To John’s surprise, he saw Molly copy his motion, her hands quicker than Greg’s.  Before he even had the chance to finish his, Molly’s was looping through the air and landing with a wet smack on Greg’s forehead.  John burst into laughter, doubling over at the waist as he wheezed over his giggles, and Greg turned a stunned face to Molly.

She shrugged, already in the process of making a second snowball.  “All’s fair in love and snowball fights.”  She lobbed another one at him, this time hitting him in the shoulder.  Greg affected a look of pure offense, clutching at his chest in mock hurt before chucking his ball at Molly.  In seconds, the three of them were engulfed in an enormous fight, snowballs tossed in every direction as fast as they could make them.  When Greg realized that he was outnumbered, he gave up on the traditional approach and simply grabbed an armful of snow, running through the bombardment directly at John and Molly.  Letting out a shriek, Molly attempted to dart away but was too slow as Greg tackled her to the ground, mashing snow into her hair.  She squirmed and giggled under him, halfheartedly trying to get away and failing.  It soon reverted to enthusiastic nuzzling as the two of them traded kisses rather than snowballs.

John rolled his eyes and prepared another snowball.  “Hey, get a room!” he yelled before letting the ball loose.  Unfortunately, he overestimated how far away they were and it flew past them, heading towards the pavement that circled the quad.  With horror, John realized that someone was walking directly into its path, their head buried in a book and completely ignorant of what was about to happen.  John tried to yell out to them, but was too late as the snowball firmly smacked the person in the face.

Rushing across the quad to reach the person, John pushed the book out of the way and attempted to brush away the snow.  Underneath it, John revealed a stunned yet exceptional face, blinking enormous eyes down at him as he gaped at John in shock.  John gulped and attempted to smile at him, hoping the man would assume the flush on his cheeks was from the cold rather than arousal. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t…I wasn’t…”  John lost his voice when the man tucked his book into his bag and pulled off his hat, revealing a head of dark curls.  He used the hat to rub at the moisture on his face, looking down at it in astonished silence when he finished.  Without thinking, John stuffed his gloves into his pocket and cradled the man’s cheeks in his hands, tilting his face from side to side to look for any damage.  His thumbs automatically stroked his cheekbones to soothe him, grinning up at him in a mixture of apology and amusement at the man’s dazed expression.  “Alright?”

“I…um…”  The man’s voice was deeper than John ever would have expected and he gulped a second time.  Releasing his face, he grabbed him by the hand and started to pull him toward the campus centre, turning to yell at the other two.

“Be back in a mo, yeah?  I just have to make sure – “  John turned to the man, waiting patiently for him to tell John his name.  He blinked a few times before he shook himself and replied.

“Sherlock.”

“Right.”  John smiled wider when he redirected his shouting to Greg and Molly.  “Just have to make sure Sherlock’s okay, then I’ll be back.”  He guided a stunned Sherlock along, carefully leading him inside to sit in one of the plush chairs of the campus centre.  He sat on the low table in front of him, their knees brushing together, and waited for Sherlock to meet his eyes.  “My name’s John.  You okay?”

Sherlock slowly nodded.  “I…yes.  Just cold.  I’m fine.”

“Well, can’t have you cold, can we?  Would you let me buy you a coffee to warm up you up and tell you how sorry I am for pelting you with a snowball?”

Blinking once, Sherlock nodded.  “Yes.  That would be.  Nice.”

John offered his hand and Sherlock took it, letting John guide him back to his feet.  He kept his grip as they walked to the coffee shop, the touch warming both of them more than the coffee ever could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their imaginary campus is based off of my undergrad's. As I wrote this I proceeded to reminisce and imagine John Watson wearing only a kilt while rooting on the soccer team and Sherlock going to the games only to see what John is wearing. (One of our guys' dorms has a tradition to dress in ridiculous outfits to yell and scream their support at soccer games. John would completely participate in this and wear a kilt because our mascot is the highlanders.)


	6. Eggnog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's home on leave and all he's really looking forward to is a cup of coffee. Too bad some strange bloke in Costa's going to make it more complicated.

The first thing John required the moment he stepped off the tube was the biggest cup of coffee he could find.  Normally he was more of a tea drinker, but after a nearly nine hour plane ride directly after dealing with an attack on a nearby base, he needed more caffeine than tea could provide.  Luckily for him, coffee shops were nearly as common in London as pigeons, so finding one definitely wouldn’t be a problem.

When he’d been informed that he was going to be given leave for the Christmas holidays, John did everything in his power to get out of it.  The only family he had left to possibly visit was Harry, who would most likely spend the majority of the time he was around drunk and incoherent, and it would have been more worthwhile to have some of the others who had significant others and children to have the opportunity to go home before he did.  Besides, he would much rather spend Christmas with his men and…well, okay, yes, he was hoping it would be an opportunity to get closer to Sholto.  They only really had a chance to chat for a few minutes every few days when their regiments happened to be paired up, but with the holiday he might get the chance to actually speak with him rather than just the usual small talk or army chatter.  Regardless, he didn’t manage to get out of his leave and here he was, back in London staying in a cheap hotel with no plans beyond staring at his ceiling all day and trips to whatever pub struck his fancy every night.

He tried not to think about it much as he emerged out of Paddington Station, blinking up at the grey sky.  Immediately across the street sat a decent sized pub, but even on Afghanistan time, it was a bit too early for that kind of drink.  The last he knew, there was a Costa a few shops down on the left, so he hoisted his duffle higher up on his shoulder and made his way across the street.  At least he arrived at the ideal time between the busy hours, still early enough that the workers down at St. Mary’s Hospital wouldn’t be out seeking their mid-morning pickup yet and everyone on their way to their jobs had already been and gone.

Other than the barista behind the counter, a handful of people sat in the shop, three of them already at a pair of tables with their drinks and one still in line ordering.  John shuffled up behind the woman and scanned the board overhead.  One of the advantages of being home during the holiday season came in the form of the seasonal drinks and John figured he might as well take advantage.  His eyes skipped over some of the sweeter options, narrowing in on the last one on the list that rested almost forgotten under the others.  Some of the Americans passing through their base had moaned over missing eggnog back home and John found himself curious.  It never seemed to be incredibly popular in the UK, but after he’d been told more about it from the men, John figured he’d give it a shot.  At this point, someone could pour coffee grounds down his throat and he would be grateful.

John ordered his drink, asking for the largest size and extra shots, and attempted to pay, but the barista waved him off.  She nodded at his fatigues and made some comment about thanking him for his service, saying it was on the house.  Nodding and thanking her, John shuffled down to the opposite end of the counter to wait for his drink and pulled out his phone.  He never bothered trying to change it over while he was away, knowing it would be practically pointless when he wouldn’t have the time to use it anyway, and switched it over from airplane mode for the first time in months.  He stared mindlessly down at it as it attempted to revert to its natural state, loading up a few missed calls and texts but nothing he cared about too deeply.  While he waited, however, he was suddenly distracted by a heated argument occurring at the till.

A man stood towering over the counter, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression livid.  The barista glanced down at John, wincing and vaguely pointing in his direction.  In response to whatever she said, the man turned his scowling face on John and it instantly dropped.  He eyed John up and down, his mouth twisting into a tight line, and straightened his back once he met John’s eyes.  Striding along the counter to stand before John, he lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes.

“It appears that you have purchased the last eggnog latte,” he stated, his voice growling with barely suppressed anger.  John’s brows rose in disbelief as he glanced between the barista and the man, but she was busy making John’s drink and attempting to ignore the confrontation in her shop.  He let his duffle slide from his shoulder to the ground and leaned an elbow against the counter.

“I’m…sorry?” he remarked, attempting to keep the smile from his face.  “Although it’s not really my fault they’ve run out of syrup.  Not really theirs either; they probably haven’t gotten their shipment in since the weekend.  Guess you’re just out of luck here, mate.  I’m sure there’s another café close by that could fix you up right.”

The man grumbled under his breath and stepped into John’s space until they stood nearly cheek to cheek.  He leaned in close enough  to avoid being overheard and John’s protest caught in the back of his throat as the man’s silky voice whispered directly into his ear.  “While I shouldn’t have to explain myself to anyone, including an army captain at home on leave for the holiday who is attempting to force himself into being enthusiastic about leaving his fellow soldiers behind to wallow away in sadness in London, I suppose I’ll have to.  I am currently working on a case to find an individual who is poisoning patrons of various Costa locations throughout the city, using the specialty holiday syrups as a means of transmitting the toxin.  I have the shops narrowed down to this one and another in Westminster, but in order to prove that the poisonings are occurring in the coffee, I need to physically obtain one of the tainted drinks to study it.  Therefore, you may choose to drink a possibly contaminated holiday coffee and spend the remainder of your time in London in hospital having your stomach pumped or you may allow me to have your drink and possibly prevent further illness for thousands of Londoners attempting to simply enjoy the season.”

John’s mouth fell open in stunned silence as the man spoke and, once he finished, he leaned back just enough to gape at him properly.  “That is…wow.  D’you need any help?”

Cocking his head, the man nearly bashed their foreheads together and took a step back to study John properly.  The corner of his mouth ticked up into an almost smile and he nodded, snatching up John’s drink just as the barista set it down.  “You’re a doctor as well as an army captain.  Do you have any access to St. Mary’s?”

“No fucking clue how you knew that, but yeah, I could probably get us in if I tried.  What are you thinking?”

The man’s smirk morphed into a full-blown smile.  “Simple.  I’ll explain as we go.”  He marched to the door, holding it open and waiting for John to follow his lead.  John quickly grabbed his bag once more and shot after him, settling easily into step with him as they made their way down the street.  “Sherlock Holmes, by the way.”

“John Watson.  Now what exactly do you think these poisons are…?”  Sherlock started in on a long explanation and John grinned, watching him with avid interest as they raced for the hospital, all thoughts of his former tiredness gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lived right down the road from this area for a short period of time when I was in London, which is the only reason I chose this specific location. There is, in fact, a pub right across from one of the Paddington tube stations and a Costa not much farther down that we stopped in before going to one of the days of Sherlocked this past September. Also this is the closest I have ever come to a coffee shop au and that is frankly a travesty, why didn't I make this a legit coffee shop au.


	7. Home for the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's on his way out of town on a train headed to his sister's. Guess who throws himself into the same carriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was doing so well keeping up with these and they keep throwing new content out that distracts me for the next twelve hours. Anyway someday I'll get back on track, we'll see if today is that day.

When he first entered the train carriage, John congratulated himself on managing to find one of the few that wasn’t filled with an outrageous number of obnoxious seatmates.  It appeared to be one of the few that had no children and other than him, only four others sat in seats scattered through their section.  He picked a pair about halfway down, tossing his duffle onto the shelf above and throwing himself into the one closest to the window.  Sighing and letting his head fall against the headrest, John watched fellow passengers rush back and forth along the platform outside. 

They had roughly six minutes until their train was due out of King’s Cross, heading for Peterborough for a final stop.  John’s was a few before that, in Hitchin and only about an hour out of London.  From there, he needed to grab a bus and take it another hour to finally reach Bedford and Harry.  Before Harry’s call a few weeks before, John’s plan for the holidays didn’t extend beyond a lot of takeaway and telly alone in his flat.  She insisted he come down to see her flat and meet her new girlfriend, however, and without any reasonable excuses, John was forced to agree.  At least with Christmas being a Sunday this year, he could plead only a long weekend visit on the condition of needing to get back to London and the clinic by the Tuesday shift he insisted he take.

John shuffled a bit in his seat, attempting to find a comfortable position on the plastic and light padding, and pulled the smaller bag that lay across his shoulder over his head.  As he unclasped the opening to search for the book he packed, his mobile buzzed in his jacket pocket.  He pulled it out absentmindedly with one hand as he scanned the book’s back.  When his eyes darted briefly at the lit screen, he frowned and typed in the pass code to properly read his message.

**Hey Johnny what time did you say you were coming in again**

He slowly typed out his response before he tossed the mobile into the seat next to him, trading it for his book.  Thumbing through the pages in search of where he’d left off, John felt the train give an abrupt shift forward, the doors beginning to slide closed.  Just as they were about to shut, a gloved hand shot out to pull them back open, a tall figure lurching inside.  He stumbled a bit before righting himself, smoothing down his coat and turning a glare on the carriage at large.  John met his eyes over the top of his book in an automatic response to the noise, but his eyebrows rose as he willingly took a second look.   The man frowned in reply, the expression one more of confusion than irritation, and he rushed past John’s set of seats to flop into the pair directly behind and across from him.  John ached to turn around and continue staring, but chose to bury his nose into the mystery printed in his novel instead.

They managed to go about ten minutes before anything broke the comfortable silence of the carriage.  The vibrating buzz of a mobile echoed from behind John and he risked a peek over his shoulder at the man.  He sat with his knees pulled up nearly against his chest, resting his legs on the back of the seat in front of him, and his arms crossed over his chest.  It was obvious the buzzing came from one of the deep pockets in either his coat or trousers, but he appeared determined to ignore it completely. 

John shrugged to himself and returned to his reading, but he shifted himself around so that his shoulders were against the window instead, allowing him to subtly examine the other man under the disguise of stretching out his legs.  The man’s scowl at the headrest in front of him remained even as his mobile continued to randomly buzz.  Eventually he growled under his breath and flipped the edge of his coat up dramatically, digging around near his arse for what John assumed was his trouser pocket.  John hunched down to better peer through the slit between his seats and study what the man would do next.

As John watched, the man finally managed to find his mobile and squinted down at it.  He rolled his eyes and punched at it with more force than was probably necessary.  Almost as soon as he threw it into the seat next to him, it began buzzing once more in a consecutive pattern, indicating that the texts reverted to a call.  The man huffed and threw his head back against his headrest, revealing a long throat over the top of his scarf.  John gulped and buried down in his seat even further.

“What do you want, Mycroft?” the man demanded into the mobile when he finally decided to answer it.  “What could you possibly need to discuss that cannot wait until I arrive?”   He paused, waiting for this Mycroft to reply, and rolled his eyes again at whatever he said.  “Yes, I’m aware.  No, I didn’t.  I’m on the right train, Mycroft, I…do you want me to send you a bloody picture of my ticket?”  He breathed deeply through his nose and shut his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in frustration.  “Saint Neots, yes, I know.  I lived there just as long as you did, I’m fully aware of where I’m going.  The quicker this – Mycroft, I’m only saying this once so if you would do me the decency to pay attention.  I have no intention to listen to you text and call me for the next hour, so the moment I hang up on you, I will be turning off my mobile.  As soon as…oh, for God’s sake.”  He yanked the mobile away from his ear and pounded on the buttons.  Once finished, he buried it back into his pocket with enough force to practically rip the fabric. 

Though John knew it probably wasn’t a wise idea, he tucked his book behind him and shuffled to the end of his seat to peer around at the man.  He had pulled his knees even closer into his chest, wrapping his long arms around them, and glared daggers out the window.  Clearing his throat, John waited until he turned his glare on John before shooting him a crooked grin.  “Heading home?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he sent John a tight nod.  John replied with a nod of his own before glancing at the empty seat behind him.  Before he could think better of it, John hopped out of his row and into the one across the aisle from the man, settling himself on the very edge of the seat with most of his body leaning out in the walkway.  The man frowned but uncurled himself from the tight ball he’d mashed himself into in the corner and turned himself slightly toward John.  Taking it as a good sign, John waved a hand at the pocket where the man’s mobile lay.

“That a sibling of yours?  I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…yeah, the tone was…familiar.  Sounded a lot like how my sister and I get on.”  The man’s eyebrows furrowed deeper and he fingered the edge of his mobile against his coat.  “Sorry, I really don’t mean to bother you…if you want me to bugger off, just say so.  I know most people don’t like random blokes chatting them up on the train – “

“Is that what this is?” the man interrupted, his bright eyes completely focused on John.  “Are you…chatting me up?”

John’s grin widened and he cocked his head, giving the man a single obvious onceover.  “What would you say if I told you I was?”

For a long moment he remained silent, until he suddenly shoved his hand out to John.  “I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

John took the hand and gave it a firm squeeze.  “John Watson.  So you said you’re headed for Saint Neots?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact I got all of these locations by going on to the King's Cross website and picking a random train and choosing a few of the stops for the boys to eventually go to.


	8. The Perfect Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special request from Ashlee1989. University student John Watson is on break in Wales and finds something unexpected down at the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is one of my favorites of these yet. Big thanks to [Ashlee1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989) for requesting this particular AU.

John skipped down the final few steps and jumped from the bottom one, landing with a spongy whoosh and a great explosion of sand.  He squinted left and right before heading straight out towards the shore, where the water snuck up to his boots and shyly darted away.  Pulling off the boots and leaving them to collect sand and ocean that would stick to his feet once he returned to them, he decided to set off to the seaweed and rocks a few feet down from the main beach.  A few steps later, his jacket joined his boots on the sand and he shivered in the mid-December air, enjoying the feel of the salt on the cold wind despite how harsh it was against his bare arms.  He breathed it in deeply before barking out a laugh and bolting off at high speed towards the rocks.

His mates suggested a weekend trip out of town after the hell of finals and one of them had a family home down near Whitmore Bay, a few miles out from Cardiff.  Since it was winter, the normally tourist filled area would be practically empty except for locals, making it ideal for a group of soon to be university graduates to spend a few days relaxing before returning for their final semester.  Most of them expected to spend the three days they would be there sprawled across the sitting room with snacks and alcohol doing nothing more than watching telly, but John couldn’t help but escape outside briefly to explore the beach.  They never went to the coast when he was a kid and the lure of an actual sandy shoreline to explore was too much for him to deny.  Therefore, despite the early hour and the 6 degree weather, John found himself prowling around the water looking for anything of interest.

The sun attempted to peer around the cliffs behind him to illuminate his way as he ran across the sand, his feet half in and half out of the water.  Goosebumps appeared along his arms and legs as soon as the water splashed up against him.  Although he barely trudged into the ocean itself, his clothes and hair clung to him when he finally came to a stop at his chosen spot.  Dark seaweed collected in enormous, twisted piles that tangled together and nearly stretched from the water’s edge to the rocks.  Amongst them lay pebbles and shells practically begging to be investigated.  Determined to make the most of his adventure, John rolled up the bottoms of his jeans and ventured into the pile.

John spent a peaceful twenty minutes simply exploring the seaweed, collecting a decent sized pile of interesting items that varied from a large, twisted shell to a ring missing its stone.  The only sounds that interrupted him were the waves brushing up along the shore and seabirds chattering to each other over his head.  At one point, an echoing splash caused his head to shoot up and search the horizon for its source.  A circular ripple was just barely noticeable a few feet out from where he stood, quickly disappearing amongst the waves.  John squinted to try and pick out what kind of creature triggered it, but other than the shimmering of the sun flashing and blinding him, he couldn’t see anything.  He shrugged to himself and went back to his search, assuming it was a fish catching its breakfast.

The trail of shells he decided to follow led him closer to the water’s edge.  He squatted down on his toes to untangle a particularly knotted group of seaweed, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.  Letting out a cry of triumph, he managed to break through and uncover a dark rock underneath it.  He lifted it to eyelevel to study it closer and instantly became distracted by a large shape staring back at him.  Yelping and tumbling to fall with a wet squelch into the sand, he gaped at the creature in disbelief.

Bright eyes the colour of the ocean watched him from a silvery white face tinged with the softest glimmers of mint green.  His chest was completely bare and he held himself up on arms that looked almost as strong as John’s.  A tapered waist led, rather than to a pair of legs, to a thick, scaled fish tale slightly longer than his top half.  The scales shimmered a pearl grey slightly darker than his skin, rainbows of colour constantly flashing across their surface as he moved.  His tail fin turned into the same mint that shone on his skin, the two pronged sides almost translucent from how thin they appeared to be.  John would have assumed he wore a costume that latched to his skin like the tightest glove, except for the way the tail seemed to tremble in excitement, the scales flexing as he breathed.  The creature twitched the bottom of it, curving it up in a mirror of his head cocking to observe John, and it glided through the water practically soundlessly.

“Jesus…” John muttered, sitting up from his sprawled position to tentatively crawl closer to the creature.  In response, he straightened and shuffled back into the water, his eyes widening and darting behind him at the open ocean.  Instantly John froze, terrified of scaring him off, and instead raised a hand in offering.

Expressive brows tilted down in confusion, but he shifted his position to hold himself up on one hand to reach one of his out to John.  Their palms and fingertips brushed, John’s calluses catching against smooth skin, and John gasped.  The creature’s eyes shot up at the sound, the corner of his mouth curving into a concerned frown, but John smiled back.  Tentatively, the creature copied him until they were both grinning dopily at one another.

“I’m John,” he finally said, wondering whether the creature would understand him.  His gaze shot up from where he had been watching their hands to John’s face.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I was just looking for – “

“Shells,” the creature muttered, his voice low and rumbling with the sounds of waves crashing against the shoreline.  He glanced at the sand and picked up a shell, twisting it in long fingers before offering it to John.  Taking it and clutching it close to his chest, John nodded and continued to stare.  “Sherlock.”

“Uh, sorry?”

“Sherlock.  My name is Sherlock.”  John breathed out a deep sigh and rubbed a thumb slowly against the shell’s edge, the thumb touching Sherlock’s hand absentmindedly copying the motion against his skin.  In reply, Sherlock shifted so that his fingers were in the spaces between John’s and locked them into a proper hold.  As though he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, Sherlock continued, “I’m searching for a certain shell in particular.  Have you happened to spot any ostrea edulis?”

“Ostrea what now?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed.  “It’s an oyster.  I need one of the shells for an experiment.”

John’s face lit up in excitement.  “You perform experiments?  But you’re a – “

“Merman, yes, I’m aware.  Just because I have a tail doesn’t mean I’m uncivilized.  Are you going to help me find this shell or not?”

“Merman,” John muttered, rolling the word over his tongue.  Sherlock waited for him to continue, an uncertain expression on his face.  When John simply smiled up at him once more, Sherlock nodded and pulled their hands apart.  John tucked the shell Sherlock gave him into one of his pockets and straightened.  “Yeah, okay, sure.  What’s this oyster look like, then?”

“It’s an oyster, John, they aren’t particularly difficult to spot.”  John chuckled at his remarks and followed Sherlock’s demands, stealing glances at the merman between searching through the seaweed.  When Sherlock caught him watching, he blinked and cocked his head once more in question.  John shot him a wink and enjoyed the brief, peachy flush that turned his cheeks almost human before they returned to their searching and chatting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to choose the beach down in Wales I've actually visited, which is in Penarth, but it has stones instead of sand so this one not too far away had to do instead. I have no reason for wanting sand beyond the fact that I grew up near a lake with a sandy beach and therefore my mind demands that beaches have sand. Also anyone who draws merman!Sherlock like this would be my hero.


	9. Starting a New Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Chinese restaurant after a long day at the clinic results in more than just food for John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of took this prompt in a more vague direction. Hopefully it actually comes across the way it should, if not it's cute regardless.

The pavement shined under the streetlights, an afternoon of constant rain obvious, when John finally left the clinic that night.  He may have agreed to work on Christmas Eve, but he didn’t realize that the agreement meant he would be the single regular doctor in the office for the majority of the day.  He also never expected such a tiny clinic could be so mad the day before Christmas; the sheer number of emergency appointments that bombarded him over the course of eight hours was frankly ridiculous.  He knew it was better that the coughs, colds, and sniffles were coming in to them rather than clogging up the A&E, but he also expected at least some of the populace of London to recognize when a trip to Boots for a bottle of cough syrup would be a better start than waking up with a sore throat and immediately making an appointment.  At least he wasn’t bored while he was stuck there all day.

He always hated how early it would get dark during the winter.  London boasted fairly grey skies this time of year that occasionally hinted at snow and provided rain instead, so walking into an outdoors that looked as though it was nearly nine at night when it was really half five instantly dropped his already exhausted mood.  John let out a great sigh as he pulled his coat collar closer to his neck and set off in the darkness towards the closest tube station.  As he turned down a corner, he spotted a local Chinese restaurant he barely paid any attention to before.  Tonight it caused him to stop in his tracks as he considered the lackluster microwave meal and empty flat waiting for him.  Deciding that if nothing else he deserved to let someone else make him dinner after the day he had, he changed course and made for the restaurant.

When he opened the shop door, a great rush of spicy, warm air bombarded him.  He breathed it in deeply before glancing around to take in what they had to offer.  There was barely anything to it, just enough room in the front for a pair of chairs and a bench under the window before you reached the kitchen.  John nodded to the two men occupying the chairs and snatched up a menu, scanning it as he leaned an elbow against the counter.  One of the workers glanced up at him and he shot the man a smile, waving the menu to let him know that he had what he needed.  The man smiled back and returned to his work.

A blast of cold air announced the entrance of another potential customer.  John continued his perusal, ignoring whoever it was even when they came to stand a bit too close to his side, and soon lifted his eyes to meet the worker’s once more.  Instantly the man came over, wiping his hands on a towel over his shoulder.  He placed his order for spring rolls and a veggie curry, digging around for his wallet and passing over a twenty, and waved the man off when he attempted to give him the change.  Once the worker thanked him and gave him the usual twenty minute wait time, John meandered to the window bench and sat with a grateful groan.

He searched for his mobile and scrolled through it without really paying attention, attempting to find something to occupy himself until his food was ready.  There were a few texts from Harry asking him what he was doing the next day, but he was too exhausted to deal with them at the moment.  Though spending the holiday alone didn’t sound particularly enjoyable, it was preferable to spending the day surrounded by Harry’s friends that he barely knew, feeling uncomfortable and awkward.  At least if he spent the day alone at his flat, he knew the number of drunken arguments would be at a minimal.

The man still at the counter grumbled his own order at the same worker who took John’s, his deep voice causing John’s head to shoot up.  He eyed the man over the top of his mobile, but he could barely see what he looked like behind the long, dark coat he wore.  Equally dark curls peaked over the top of his upturned collar and black trousers leading to a pair of shiny shoes were the only other distinguishing characteristics John noticed from his position.  Just as he was hoping to see more, the man turned and came to sit beside him on the bench. 

John attempted to cover his sudden gasp at the man’s approach, but couldn’t be certain whether or not he was successful.  If nothing else, he managed a deep breath of him because of it, a pleasing mixture of tobacco smoke and winter air combined with something mellow that had to be his natural scent.  The man sat close enough that the arms of their jackets brushed against each other when they moved and John forced himself to continue breathing normally.  By the time his heart finally returned to a pace resembling normal, the man spoke and sent it off at double time again.

“You should go tomorrow,” he stated without provocation, causing John to turn and confirm he wasn’t speaking to someone on his mobile.  His face remained fixed ahead of him, his hands folded in his lap.  John shot a glance at the two men seated across from them, wondering if he was speaking to them, but the man soon made it obvious that wasn’t the case.  “I’m talking to you, yes.  You’re obviously here alone since you only ordered enough food for one, indicating that you aren’t planning on spending the evening with anyone.  As soon as you sat down, you looked through your mobile with an uncertain expression.  That either means you haven’t received any messages recently and expected them or have been contacted by someone and are unsure about how to respond.  Given the fact that your eyes moved across the screen to read something, I must assume it is the latter.  Additionally, with the upcoming holiday, family members and friends who are seldom in contact have a greater probability of initiating interaction, which increases the chances that you have been invited to some sort of Christmas affair.  You haven’t seen this particular family member in quite some time, if the signs of service abroad are any indication, and given your general demeanor, I suspect you would soon regret not seeing them if you have the opportunity.  Therefore, whatever they have invited you to attend, you should go.”

Mouth gaping open, John snorted out a disbelieving laugh.  “That was…fuck, that was brilliant.  You’re amazing at that, whatever it was.”

The man turned sharply to study John, his eyes narrowed as he searched John’s face.  Finding whatever he was looking for, he said slowly, “Deduction.  It’s a crucial part of my work at the Met.  I’ve…that’s not what people usually say, however.  Brilliant, that is.”

“Watson!” the worker suddenly called from the counter, John’s order in his hand.  John glanced between him and the man and rushed to his feet, snatching the bag up with a quick thanks before hurrying back to the bench.  The man’s gaze had fallen to the floor when John stood, but he looked up to meet John’s eyes when he situated himself directly in front of him.

“You do that for the Met and they don’t tell you how fantastic it is?” John asked.  “Bit ridiculous, honestly.  I’ve never heard of anyone doing what you just did; you should be told how remarkable it is.”

John returned to his seat, his food ignored where he placed it on the floor.  The man blinked at him, his mouth opening a few times as though he searched for words.  Finally he cleared his throat, his hands clenching painfully tight.  “I…thank you.  That’s quite…well, anyway, thank you.”

“Holmes!” the worker called, and the man’s head shot up.  He glanced at John and stood, John copying him.

“Sorry, I should probably leave you alone.  I’m sure you have something better to do with your Christmas Eve than chat with some bloke at a Chinese restaurant.”

“No, it’s fine.”  He made to grab his food and paused to turn back to John.  “Would you…like to join me?  My landlady dropped off a bottle of wine before I left…”

John grinned and took up the man’s food.  “I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time I went to get Chinese food for my flatmate and I in London and she requested a specific restaurant that she loved and was in the same area where I was at the time. A half an hour later and my stupid map app sent me everywhere but where this place was. I did finally, after a lot of effort, get us the Chinese. And it was delicious. Maybe not worth running around Islington though.


End file.
